


Let it happen

by ColorfulStabwound



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Battle of the Astronomy Tower, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Death, Death Eaters, Dumbledore's Army, Fear, Gen, Hogwarts, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), POV Second Person, sixth year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 16:23:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2315891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/pseuds/ColorfulStabwound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are sixteen years old when your life takes a turn that will forever change its course, and although you are not nearly old enough to grasp the repercussions that will result because of this singular act, you dive into the moment because you don’t know any better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let it happen

**Author's Note:**

> We have been delving into Draco and Theodore's past lately and I really wanted to explore his time at Hogwarts once it started to crumble. This gave me anxiety, which tells me that it is fairly capable. I hope you think so too.
> 
> Lyrics and title borrowed from Jimmy Eat World's - Let it happen
> 
> As always thank you to my muse, writing partner, cohort, and friend, Unkissed. Without you Draco is just a shell.

You are sixteen years old when your life takes a turn that will forever change its course, and although you are not nearly old enough to grasp the repercussions that will result because of this singular act, you dive into the moment because you don’t know any better. The pain of having a magical tattoo placed upon your body is not something that you will ever forget, as long as you live and as the tip of The Dark Lord’s wand inches closer to your exposed forearm you do your best not to flinch because you are scared he will see it.

 

You have been groomed and prepped for this moment your entire life. You were born into this world unto parents who lived their lives on the underside of society, no matter _how_ they might pretend otherwise. Your father would readily trade your infantile form for a chance to kneel at Voldemort’s cloak, and your mother would hardly object because that is how _she_ has been groomed and prepped. 

 

An unheard incantation filters out of waxen lips that you can hardly stand to look directly at, and then, rather suddenly, you are alive with white-hot pain that shoots through every single inch of your body like unforgiving claps of lightening. The process takes only moments, although the pain remains for several minutes and despite your earlier attempts at keeping yourself under control, you find yourself writhing on the ground like a fish out of water—A fish out of water in a considerable amount of pain.

 

Your screams fill the hollowed out room and although you cannot hear it, the circle of your newly acquired fellow Death Eaters laugh at your display. Before the pain subsides you pass out and when you wake up it is because the rat-man has thrown a bucket of (what you hope is) water on your face. You choke on the liquid that splashes in your mouth and you sit up, every nerve you possess still stinging like second degree burns. Another bout of laughter makes its way around the cloaked circle and the shame you feel is like an old friend.  Later, when you are permitted a bit of time to yourself, you will sit on the floor in the corner of your room and hug your knees and try your best not to look at the ugly black stain marring your pale flesh and you will not realize that the mark will haunt you for the rest of your life; long after the Dark Lord has fallen for good.

 

The trip back to Hogwarts is a constant mixture of impending dread and hopeless optimism and you do your best to laugh it off and appear normal for your friends.

 

You listen to them chatter about their summer holidays and you say nothing because _your_ summer was drastically different. Instead of vacationing in Greece or shopping in Paris, you were living in constant fear of you and your mother’s life. You were taking lessons on Occlumency and non-verbal casting with your charmingly insane aunt Bella who had little patience for your stupid mistakes and seemed to enjoy punishing you entirely too much. And let’s not forget the impossible task of killing Dumbledore that had been placed on your shoulders—summer holiday, indeed.

 

You are sixteen years old and by the time you sit down in the great hall for start of term, and you wonder if you will make it to see your next birthday.

 

You end up quietly bragging about your mark during the feast because you are desperate for a sense of normalcy; the kinds where you are still just a stupid kid and all of your friends still worship you. Every now and then your gaze cuts down to the other end of the table where Theodore is sitting, and every time he catches you staring, he looks away and you ignore the twisting knife in your chest.

 

He hasn’t spoken more than two words to you since you rejected him and although most of the time you can brush it off with casual indifference, sometimes you secretly hope he comes back because despite your differences, you know he is the only one who has ever _truly_ known you.

 

Your sixth year started with pain and it will end with pain. All of the stuff in between is really just a lead up to the inevitable fall and you know it; even if you adamantly tell yourself that you don’t.

 

You’ve been fiddling with that cabinet inside the room of requirement for months now and you still cannot manage to get the stupid bird back in one piece. You can literally _feel_ time closing in around you and every time you lie down in your bed at night you see your mother’s face behind your eyelids and then you cast a silencing charm on your drawn curtains because you refuse to let any of your mates hear you cry.

 

Each day that slips past you wears on you just a little bit more than the last. Your friends  (or anyone else for that matter) can no longer ignore the obvious changes in you. You have lost so much weight that your clothes hang on you and the bags beneath your eyes are permanently a faint purple color. Your patience is slowly slipping away and you find yourself snapping at the smallest things.

 

When Pansy corners you in the corridor you yell at her so loudly that she cowers away from you like you are some kind of monster and you have to ignore the image of the tears in the corners of her eyes just so you can live with yourself.

 

Blaise is constantly trying to calm you down but you find his soothing tones and soft words annoying and you blow him off every time.  You would never admit that your anger with Blaise has a lot to do with how friendly he still is with Theodore because at the end of the day and beyond the fucked up situation you call your life, you are still a petulant child and you are jealous.

 

Daphne has taken to throwing teacups at the wall every time you enter the Slytherin common room because she is tired of your bullshit. Her affinity for throwing teacups will never leave her and one day in the distant future you will find it endearing; right now you find it inconvenient to dodge shards of flying china and you shoot her a withering glare as you pass through on the way to the dorm room

 

Even Crabbe and Goyle have started to show signs of impatience, which you find grimly amusing considering that they share about half a brain between the two of them.

 

Theodore never says anything at all. He sits in the corner of the common room and never says a fucking word and it kills you inside your adolescent, inexperienced, confused little heart. Every. Single. Time.

 

_I have a ringing in my head_

_And no one to help me answer it_

_Even with you close enough to kiss_

Eventually your little group confronts you and they pick a _really_ shitty time to do it and you snap. Blaise tries to reason with you and tells you that they are your friends. Daphne twists a teacup in her hands and calls you a stupid prat and Pansy cries and screams that everything is your entire fault. Crabbe and Goyle say nothing but they nod in agreement with the rest of them and your eyes that are bloodshot from too much stress and not enough sleep glare at them each in turn.

 

“That’s right, it’s all my fault. Say whatever you want, I can laugh it off.” You don’t even have it in you to fight and you turn around and leave the common room because you can’t stand being surround by judging sets of eyes—A feeling you will never get over.

 

You hide in the unused bathroom on the first floor, not because you are really hiding so much as you just need a moment to yourself to collect your thoughts and just… _breathe._

 

You’ve heard the rumors of the ghost that haunts the bathroom but you’ve never believed them and when you meet her you are not as repulsed as you think you should be. The dead girl quietly intrigues you and you find yourself returning to the bathroom more and more over the course of the year. At first you say very little to her but eventually she becomes your only friend and you just have to laugh at the fucking irony of it because even your living breathing friends can’t stand being around you and you’re only friend is someone who can’t possibly be hurt by you because she’s already dead.

 

 

It’s late in the year when Harry Potter follows you into Myrtle’s bathroom and you are taken by surprise when he confronts you. You draw your wand because that is what you’ve been trained to do, and because you are horrified that he’s caught you crying in the girls loo. You don’t even get your incantation out before he fires back and the look of utter shock on your face as you fall is probably priceless.  Your skin slices open with deep cuts that you hardly feel because let’s face it, you’ve felt a _lot_ worse by this point. As you lie there in a puddle of toilet water bleeding out, you stare almost lazily up at the ceiling above and the ghostly dead girl who looks just a little too pleased at the prospect of you dying in her bathroom. When your eyes slide shut you half-hope that you really are dying because it would be a welcome escape.

 

You are unconscious when Professor Snape swoops down and does his best with you before scooping you up and carting you off to the infirmary.

 

When you wake up you feel vaguely nauseous and you ache all over. You now have several scars to go along with the ugly stain on your arm and you wonder how many more you will have to endure for this battle between Voldemort and The fucking Boy Who Lived.

 

You never return to Myrtle’s bathroom after that, and once you are up and around again your friends seem to have taken a spot of pity on you because they are talking to you again—You can’t decide if that is a good thing or not because you hate to think of how disappointed they’ll be when you fail.

 

When you finally do get the cabinets working it is the happiest moment you have had in almost two years. You silently praise Graham Montague for the information and you smile all the way back to the common room.  

 

By the time your plan finally comes together you are holding the door of the cabinet open for several Death Eaters to enter Hogwarts and when Fenrir Greyback crawls out of the opening you pale just a little bit and the first hint of panic taps at the back of your mind. You unleash them on the school and then take off, heading for the Astronomy tower where you come upon Dumbledore looking less than fit. Your heart is pounding in your ears and you are shaking with fear because no matter how many times you told yourself that you could do this, you can’t.   Dumbledore is frighteningly calm as if he’s known your plan all along and he offers you sanctuary that you desperately wish you could take but you cry and shake your head and then you are no longer alone with him.

 

Professor Snape and a few of the others are behind you and egging you on to end the life of this old man who isn’t even putting up a fight. It horrifies you to see yourself like this, and you wand hand shakes and you know that you will never be able to forget this moment in your life as long as you live.

 

 

 

When Snape casts the killing curse you can only stare in abject horror as Dumbledore’s body arches and fills with a stream of red light. You want to scream as you watch his now lifeless form topples over the edge and disappear into the darkness, forever falling.  You are rigid with fear and compulsion and you have to be physically dragged out of the room by Snape, who looks as ghostly as you feel.

 

You are running on autopilot as you follow him out of the school and you try not to see the horrors that are taking place all around you because they are **all** your fault.

 

The second year Greyback was currently gnawing on? –Your fault.

 

The order member who just fell at the hands of a Death Eater? –Your fault.

 

Dumbledore’s death? –Not your hand but still your fault.

 

You hardly hear the shouts behind you and you stop belatedly as Snape turns back to grapple with a very self-righteous looking Harry Potter. If you weren’t in shock and scared out of your wits you would probably wish that Professor Snape would actually kill Potter, if only to end this stupid war.

 

When you leave the school you are whisked back to Malfoy manor and are forced to accept that you are now a criminal. There was no more hiding behind any mask, not this time.  You are still in a constant state of fear even though you have somehow managed to succeed with your plan—A feat that you find out that Voldemort has purposely expected you to fail.

 

In the weeks that follow you will be swallowed up further into the hole that you call your life. Your sixth year at Hogwarts will seem like a fleeting walk in the park compared to what is still coming.

 

You still have so much farther to fall than you even realize yet.

 

And no one to pull you out.

 

 

_I must look like I’m running away_

_To you at your faster pace_

_I wonder what it is_

_That you could have seen, in me_

 

 


End file.
